Return to Skull Island
by Bingalicious Midnight
Summary: When a strange storm brings the Venture back to Skull Island, Jimmy and most of the crew are captured. An injured Englehorn must save them. Jack and Anne learn about the ship's fate and decide to help. Also, something on the island begs to be discovered.
1. Chapter 1

_Return to Skull Island_

CHAPTER ONE

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A/N: This is my first King Kong fic, so any suggestions would be extremely appreciated. Let me know if anyone seems ooc, if I'm forgetting anything plot-wise, etc.

There _will_ be characters other than Englehorn included in later chapters (Jimmy will definitely be involved, and Jack, Carl, and Anne may make appearances). There shouldn't be any OCs (besides a generic crewmember in this chapter).

I'll shut up now and let you read…

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The roaring of the bonfire and the crashing of waves mingled, becoming background music for the wild chanting of the Skull Island natives. They clasped hands and danced crazily around the flames, their voices adding to the harmony of ocean and fire.

Though no speaker of English could understand the rhythmic syllables of the chant, that person could have easily seen that something was happening. He would not have understood, but the night sky seemed to pull in toward the ritual in answer, and the clouds swirled away without a wind to pull them.

The chanting escalated to a raging crescendo. The clouds became a storm.

The natives of Skull Island were not happy that someone had stolen their god.

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Captain Englehorn was thrown against the wheel of the ship as a wave slammed into his ship. He winced as his chest hit the hard wood. He could feel the _Venture_ list dangerously under his feet, the floor sloping to a ridiculously steep angle.

As it had with each blow of the unnatural storm, the ship righted itself again.

Englehorn was weary beyond belief. The storm had been raging at full force for nearly two days and showed no signs of letting up. He had given up trying to keep the ship on course and had spent most of the two days trying to simply keep the ship upright. This normally simple task became increasingly more difficult as his mind and body grew more and more tired.

He could almost hear Lumpy's voice. "This is no normal storm, Captain. It's witchery, I'm sure. It came up much too fast and it's been goin' for too long. I'm tellin' you…"

Englehorn was not a superstitious man, but he was starting to believe that something was going on. After all, they hadn't been too far from Skull Island when the storm had started.

"Captain!" It was a new crew member, enlisted shortly after the Kong fiasco. Englehorn's exhausted mind could not fathom his name.

"Yes?" he asked.

"There've been some malfunctions below," the crew member reported. Englehorn wondered how the man sounded so pert. Perhaps, unlike Englehorn, he had managed to sleep a bit despite the raging tempest.

Englehorn blinked to bring his mind back to the present. It wandered when he was tired. "What—what kind of malfunctions?" he asked.

"We're not entirely sure," the crew member said. "But everything down there is drenched. We're practically bailing water out of the machinery. We've managed to keep it going for the last two days, but…"

"Alright," Englehorn said resignedly. "Do what you can. If you can't make it work, just make sure it doesn't explode."

The man hesitated a moment, unsure if Englehorn was sarcastic. Englehorn stared at him.

"Yes, sir," the crew member said.

The ship lurched suddenly, and the crew member staggered into Englehorn. The captain lost his balance and fell against the wall as the crew member grabbed onto the wheel for support. Englehorn righted himself with monumental effort, bracing himself by pressing one hand against the wall. The fall had, if nothing else, cleared his mind slightly.

"Wait," he said. The crew member spun around. "Take the wheel. I want to look at this myself."

Englehorn had only made it a few feet across the deck Jimmy yell the words that gave him a terrible sense of déjà vu: "Wall! Wall ahead!"

He turned to Jimmy in the crow's nest, then to find something to grab hold of, and then back to the wheel to see the nameless crew member looking hopelessly lost, then to the wall of rock that had reared up in front of them.

He froze. In that moment, the ship crashed full speed into Skull Island.

He flew across the slick deck, slamming into the short wall that went around the edge of his ship. Everything faded away.

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Englehorn awoke slowly. The first thing he noticed was that something was poking into his back. As he came closer and closer to consciousness, he became more aware of the pain in his shoulder and head.

Opening his eyes, he saw the nameless crewmember's head wavering in front of a backdrop of stars.

"Captain?" the crew member asked.

Englehorn grunted and sat up slightly, wincing with the effort. He was lying on the dark rocks of the shore (which explained the thing poking his back), not far from the wall. There were a few other members of his crew sitting or draped over the nearby rocks. He could see his ship wallowing in the churning water.

He looked again at the stars. He hadn't seen stars for more than two days.

The crew member was looking at him, apparently wondering if he should break the silence. Englehorn turned his attention from the miraculously clear sky and decided to save him the effort.

"What happened?" he asked. Under the stress of the recent events, his accent was stronger than usual. "Where is the rest of the crew? How badly is the ship damaged? And what the hell is your name?" The crew member seemed slightly stunned by the barrage of questions and didn't answer right away.

"Miller, sir," the crew member said finally. "What happened? I couldn't steer away from the wall in time and we hit it. The ship is pretty badly damaged and everyone that isn't injured is working to repair the ship. Some people went to look for materials to repair it with."

Englehorn stared at him speechlessly for a moment. "They went beyond the wall?" he finally asked.

The crew member—Miller—nodded.

"Who went?" Englehorn pressed. "Didn't anyone tell you how dangerous it is? What about Jimmy? Did he tell you?"

Miller shook his head. "Sir, no one told me anything. I just stayed with you after I dragged you off of the ship. I think Jimmy went with everyone else, though."

Englehorn wondered for a moment if he should thank the crew member for saving him, but there were more pressing matters at hand. "Has there been any activity on the island? Any fires?" He sat up fully. This new problem made the throbbing in his shoulder seem inconsequential.

"Not that I know of," Miller said. "And, sir, if you're okay now, I think they need me to help with repairs.

"Is that all you know?" Englehorn asked.

Miller nodded.

"Then go," he replied. "Fix my ship."

As the crewmember scurried away, Englehorn heard the unmistakable beat of drums. He stood up slowly and turned toward the wall. The island behind it had begun to glow with the eerie flickering light of many fires.

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Please leave a review...any feedback will be much appreciated.


	2. Chapter 2

_Return to Skull Island_

CHAPTER TWO

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A/N: Slash? (And no, this is _not_ a review reply). A few people asked me if this story would be slash. I'm not a huge fan of slash and I don't usually write it. As of now, this story _probably_ won't be, but my stories tend to write themselves and it may turn into slash later on.

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Jimmy stumbled along an overgrown path, his mind reeling. Perhaps he was dreaming. Maybe he had fallen from the crow's nest, hit his head, and was imagining that he was back on Skull Island. It felt impossible.

His orders had been vague: Go onto the island and scout around for anything that could be useful in repairing the ship. He had protested, but of course no one had listened to the boy who was slurring with weariness.

He saw nothing that looked remotely useful unless the crew planned on cutting down the enourmous trees that had once held Kong. He supposed that the natives wouldn't be too fond of that idea. At the thought of the natives, he shivered. They could be anywhere, now, watching him, waiting for the right moment to pounce…

He clenched his fists in an attempt to stop thinking. It would be best not to think of anything that had happened on this godforsaken island. He had just stopped having nightmares about it.

Maybe, he realized, he had fallen from the crow's nest, died, and gone straight to hell.

He heard a twig snap and nearly tripped over a root as he jumped, startled. He stopped and scanned the woods, but there was no one around.

Probably a critter, he reassured himself. Or maybe a giant, man-eating worm.

The tiny hairs on the back of his neck prickled, and he shivered again. He could picture the natives, their stringy hair swinging around their creased and silent faces as they crept noiselessly behind him. Their bloodshot eyes would follow every move of his body as he stumbled through their forest. Their mouths would twist into gruesome scowls and they would grunt like wild animals as they killed him.

He stopped and forced himself to take a deep breath. Maybe he was reading too much. His imagination was much too active, and he was simply scaring himself. But he was not a coward, and would not act like one.

A bug pricked the back of his neck and he raised a hand to slap it. Seeing something in the corner of his eye, he stopped suddenly and dropped his hand. He turned slowly.

The native that held the spear did not lower it from Jimmy's neck as he cackled. He called something to the surrounding bushes, and with barely a rustle, Jimmy was surrounded. They were just as he had pictured them, and he bit back a cry of fear.

He struggled a little bit as they tied his arms behind his back with a coarse, dark rope, but he knew he had no chance. Their spears alone outnumbered him, not to mention the natives that wielded them.

The tallest native grabbed his trussed hands and shoved him forward. His arms complained and he stumbled forward to keep up. They walked like this for some time, though Jimmy couldn't have measured it. He tried to break free a few times, but each time the native's calloused hands held fast and the others threatened him with spears. He gave up when an ugly old man jabbed him hard enough in the side to draw blood.

It seemed odd that they wanted him alive. The reception he got when they arrived to the native's central area was odder still. A shout went up, and many hands hustled to pull him and touch him. They fingered his clothes and prodded his face. He let out a drawn-out noise of disgust but there were still far too many to fight.

He noticed a group of crew members cowering against a group of rocks, guarded by a few natives. He looked at them closely, trying his best to ignore the group of natives that still surrounded him All of the men were new, replacements for those who had died during their last trip to Skull Island. He wondered what had happened to those who had already come to the island, but he already had a fairly good idea.

The natives were probably going to kill him.

You are not a coward, he told himself sternly. Not a coward. Not a coward.

He repeated this to himself even as they piled wood on their fire and began to pound on heavy drums. It became a chant in his mind as they pushed him toward the flames.

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Englehorn was, for the moment, unsure of what to do. He looked past the wall to the flickering light, sighed, and turned to his ship. His crew obviously needed help, but he couldn't leave his ship to sink either.

He tried to plan out the possibilities in his head. He could take everyone that was currently working on repairs and attack the natives. But that would leave the ship unguarded and, in any case, there were too few crew members for a successful attack on the natives, guns or no guns.

But he couldn't leave his crew to the island people; he hadn't even been able to leave Carl Denham to the natives.

He rubbed his forehead with his good arm. Time was running out.

"Sir!" someone said. It was Miller.

"What?" Englehorn asked tensely.

Cowed by Englehorn's threatening tone, he said quickly, "Um, they sent me to let you know that, um, the damage is worse than we'd realized. We may not be able to get the ship going again. We're going to radio in for help."

"Alright," Englehorn said after a stunned pause. "If that is what you must do, do it."

Miller nodded.

"Now go!" Englehorn ordered.

As Miller ran back to the ship, Englehorn fingered his gun. Perhaps it would be best to leave his crew to fix the ship. He could go alone, for now, and find out what was happening beyond the wall. If the natives had only captured a few of his men, he might be able to free them himself. If all had been taken, he could think of a plan then.

A few of the injured that still sat and lay around him were awake. He addressed them. "I am going to see what is going on," he said. "If anyone asks where I am, make it clear to them that they are not to follow me."

A few people replied affirmatively, and Englehorn began to walk to the wall. His left shoulder gave a little stab of pain with each step across the rocks, but he gripped his gun and ignored it. The drumming grew louder.

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Don't worry; I'm not going to kill Jimmy. And what does happen to him? Review (please) and you shall see.


	3. Chapter 3

_Return to Skull Island_

CHAPTER THREE

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A/N: Thanks for the reviews, everyone... if you want a reply, let me know (I know I like reading them) and I'd be happy to write one.

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Jimmy struggled harder than he had in his entire life as the natives pulled him toward the fire. He kicked, elbowed, bit, twisted and headbutted, ignoring the prods from the spear. He was going to die anyway; what did it matter if they poked him first?

He was completely surprised when they halted suddenly a few feet from the fire. The heat was intense, but it was tolerable, and much better than being thrown _inside_ the fire.

Two native men held his arms, but he had ceased to fight for the moment. What were they doing?

An old woman with a hunched back and bloodshot eyes suddenly appeared out of the gloom. It was so bright beside the fire that he could barely see the natives that surrounded him. The old woman shoved a necklace of skulls and bones over his head, their rough ends scratching his face. The woman disappeared as quickly as she had come.

Sweat began to bead on his face and moisten his clothes. His face burned and his eyes seemed to shrivel in the heat. He wondered if the natives, who stood as close to the flames as he did, could feel the heat.

Suddenly, they pulled him away, into the darkness. His vision flashed with a ghostly green memory of the flames, obscuring the darker area from view. He stumbled and fell against a native who quickly pushed him upward. He could feel the grip on his arms change as he was handed to a new pair of natives. They half forced, half dragged him away from the fire. His vision had only begun to clear.

Maybe, he realized, this was the reason for the fire. Maybe it was part of a ritual. He couldn't remember what had happened to Anne, he couldn't think…

The natives halted, and Jimmy immediately recognized the place. A tall, hinged bridge that could span a gorge stood in its upright position. Its forked top already held the ropes to tie an unfortunate sacrifice into place.

Jimmy resumed his struggling as he realized what the natives wanted to do. He yelled obscenities at the natives. "Kong is never coming! He's dead!" he added.

At the word "Kong," both natives stiffened. Their expressionless faces suddenly lit up with…what? Hope? Anger? The strange natives were too foreign for Jimmy to guess.

Whatever they were feeling, they quickened their pace.

"No!" Jimmy screamed angrily, stomping at one's foot and missing. He tried to wrench free from their grasp, but they only hurried faster.

As he had expected, he was bound to the end of the bridge. The rough ropes cut cruelly into his arms but did not budge as he tugged at them.

He saw the natives retreat into the forest from the corner of his eye. He sagged. It was going to be a long night.

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Jack Driscoll scanned the front page of the newspaper, debating whether or not it was worth the few cents he had to pay. Money wasn't an issue after the success of his newest play, but there was rarely anything in the news that he wanted to read.

A lot of political garbage, some bad news about a fire a few states away, and—He grabbed the newspaper, aware that the vendor gave him a nasty look. In small print, on the bottom of the front page, the title read, "Ship Marooned on Unknown Island." There was little text below it, but the writing described a message that a ship—specifically, _The Venture_, had been carried by a storm to an island without a name.

"You gonna buy that?" the vendor asked.

Jack dug in his pocket and handed the money to the man.

_Continued on C4_. Jack flipped hurriedly through the pages, letting the unimportant sections like Sports and Local fall to the ground. He found his heart pounding, and he took a deep steadying breath as he found the article.

Maybe it was a different _Venture_. Maybe it was a different island. After all, there were probably plenty ships named _Venture_ and countless undiscovered islands.

Still, it seemed like too much of a coincidence. He found a bench and sat down, his eyes glued to the paper. He needed names, something to tell him that this was Englehorn's _Venture_ or that the island was called "Skull" by the natives.

Englehorn's name was about halfway through the article: _The crew report that the Captain, Englehorn, disappeared shortly after the crash, as did many crew members._

Jack stared blankly for a moment, then read the sentence again.

The rest of the article said little of value. Apparently no one knew much about what had happened.

He started at a jog towards his house. Anne would need to see this, and together they could decide on a course of action.

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The fire had burned down to embers as Englehorn watched the natives' central area. Most had disappeared to wherever they slept, but a few remained to watch his captive crew.

If there was a time to stage a rescue, it would be now, he decided. But there was no way that he, exhausted and injured as he was, could fight the natives.

He tried to remember how his last rescue mission had worked. The natives had been scared of his gun and had run away. It had seemed so simple then.

Maybe, now, he could scare them enough that his crew could escape. It would be risky, and might not work, but he shuddered to think of what the natives could do.

He took a deep breath, stood, and raised his gun.

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Once again, thank you all for the reviews.


	4. Chapter 4

_Return to Skull Island_

CHAPTER THREE

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"Anne!" Jack yelled as he pulled open the door, gasping for breath, "Anne!"

"What, Jack? Is something wrong?" Her sleepy voice, coming from the bedroom, reminded him that it was midnight on a Tuesday

He shed his jacket on a chair and barged into their bedroom. "It's the_ Venture_," he said, turning on the light. Anne raised an eyebrow, squinting through the sudden brightness. "In the newspaper. They were marooned on _some_ unknown island. The article doesn't say which, but it does say that Englehorn and others are missing! Does that seem strange at all to you?"

Anne sat up in bed and yawned. "Of course that sounds strange. Can I see the article?"

Jack handed the newspaper to her. "Do you think they went back there?" he asked.

Looking up, Anne said, "Why would they do that? I don't think any of them loved Skull Island." She read a few more lines. "Anyway, the crew reported that it was a storm."

They sat in silence as Anne read the account. Jack tried to imagine what would bring the crew of the _Venture_ back to Skull Island. The idea that a storm brought them there was ridiculous; the chances that a storm would just happen to pull the _Venture_ to Skull Island were far too slim.

"This is definitely strange," Anne said slowly.

"What do you think it means?" Jack asked.

"It's strange," Anne said again. "But I don't know if it means anything. First of all, we don't know if they're actually on Skull Island. There must be a thousand little undiscovered islands. I mean, it's terrible that they're marooned, but help will come soon enough. It says that they were able to check their coordinates with the stars." Anne pointed to a line in the text, then sighed. "Jack, even if they did go back to Skull Island, what do you plan to do?"

He stood up and took a deep breath. "I don't know, Anne. But it sounds like they might need help from someone who knows about Skull Island. I can't imagine Englehorn disappearing if it were a normal shipwreck. Why can't we get there quickly?"

Anne sighed. "I don't think there's anything we can do right now. Why don't you look into that tomorrow?"

He nodded and sat down on the bed again.

"Jack?"

"Yes?" he asked.

"Turn off the light."

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Englehorn tried to hold his gun steady, aiming it at the largest of the native guards. His shoulder complained sharply he gritted his teeth and made sure that when he pulled the trigger, the guard would fall.

He played his plan, simple as it was, in his mind like one of Carl Denham's movies. He would shoot the native. The loud noise and the death of one would send the rest running for cover. If they ran far enough, he could rescue his crew without any problems. If they came back, he would have had enough time to reload and he could kill another one. There were only a few guards.

Confident now, having convinced himself that his plan was sound, he pressed his finger to the trigger. Somehow, the small movement sent a spike of agony through his shoulder. He cried out with the unexpected pain as his arm jerked and his finger tightened around the trigger.

The shot was deafening the in the silent forest. He reflexively grabbed his shoulder, but his arm dropped as he saw one of his own crew—he couldn't tell which one—slump to the ground.

The natives had jumped, startled, when the shot had gone off, but now they turned in his direction. He was torn for a moment between reloading and trying once more to hit one and making a much-needed escape.

His arm was only now returning to the dully throbbing state it had been in all night, so he decided to run. It wasn't, he thought as he started toward the thicker woods, an act of cowardice. It was simply the fact that if the natives caught him now, there would be no one to rescue his crew.

He dodged through the thick growth on the forest floor and between the trunks of massive trees, but he was tired, and he knew that the natives were quickly closing the space between them.

They were out of view for the moment, behind a steep hill. If there was ever a time to hide, he realized, it was now.

He looked around desperately. There seemed to be nothing that could actually conceal him from view.

Finally, he saw a long, dark hole about the size of a hatch on his ship, going down into the loam-covered ground beside an enormous tree. He immediately thought of the creatures he'd seen and heard about, the huge flesh-eating worms that had consumed Lumpy and the other cat-sized bugs.

His indecision only lasted a moment and he lowered his feet into the thick, sloping hole. Despite the pain in his shoulder, it didn't take long to wiggle into the tunnel and cover the entrance with old leaves.

He breathed shallowly in the small space and tuned his ears to the sound of his pursuers. He heard nothing at first but the beating of his heart and then something scuffling beyond his feet in the other end of the tunnel.

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Jimmy felt himself drifting off to sleep as he hung from the bridge. He was more tired than he had been in a long time, and a slight breeze seemed to caress him like a blanket.

He had seen nothing during the time that he waited. He wondered if the other creatures of the island still considered this to be Kong's spot and avoided it. That was a good thing, he decided, his eyes closing. The more, in this case, were certainly not the merrier.

He awoke a few times, noted the numbness in his bound hands, listened to the screech of some bird that faded into the distance, and fell asleep again.

He realized during one period of wakefulness that there was no telling what the natives would do when they found him in the morning. However, this thought did nothing to deter his weary mind from slipping away once more.

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Jack found it hard to fall asleep that night, even as Anne's breathing slowed and she slackened in his arms. He wracked his mind for a way to help his friends, or at least to find out why they had returned to Skull Island, but nothing came to him.

Finally, as a lone car passed on the street below and sent a sliver of light into the room, he had a strange idea.

Carl Denham.

Though they hadn't ended on great terms after the Kong fiasco, they had been friends long enough that Jack guessed Carl might help him. And, even if their friendship hadn't held out, there was always the excitement of Skull Island to convince him.

Exactly how Carl might help he wasn't sure. But the man knew everyone and had an uncanny way of making even the most impossible ideas work. If there was a way to get to Skull Island quickly, Jack reasoned, Carl could figure it out.

Satisfied, he closed his eyes and went to sleep.

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So what do you think?


	5. Chapter 5

_Return to Skull Island_

CHAPTER FIVE

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Englehorn took a deep breath and held it as he strained his ears. The shuffling by his feet had stopped for the moment. He was about to release his breath in relief when he heard the noise again and something touched his foot.

Startled and terrified he kicked the thing as hard as he could. His boot met flesh with a satisfying thud and he began to scramble from the hole, kicking dirt into the face of whatever creature lurked behind him.

His shoulder throbbed from the sudden exertion and his breath was ragged in his ears, but he stood crouched by the hole, his entire body tense. He had drawn his gun, though he remembered that it was unloaded a few seconds later.

Nothing came from the tunnel but a peculiar noise. Warily, Englehorn lowered his head toward the hole. It broke off for a moment, but returned with more force than before.

It sounded like a child crying.

Englehorn stood for a moment. Should he wait and find out what he had just kicked? Or would it be best to just keep running? Common sense told him to leave, but for some reason he lingered until something poked its head from the hole.

He jumped backward, pointing his useless gun at the thing.

But the thing was just as he'd thought it to be. A small, dusky child with unruly dark hair clambered from the hole. One tiny hand was clamped over its right eyes, and it emitted loud sobs every few seconds. It stared at him accusingly with its left eye and hunched into a small ball on the ground.

Completely taken aback, Englehorn just watched the child for a few moments without even wondering why it was in a tunnel, or why it wasn't going anywhere.

"What are you?" he finally asked, quietly, incredulously, more to himself than to the small native child.

The child babbled something in its native language and removed its hand from its eye. It blinked a few times, sniffing. Apparently assured that there was no lasting damaged, it swallowed its last tears and smiled.

Englehorn stared blankly.

The child held up a small finger in a universal gesture of _wait_ and began to crawl back into the tunnel. Englehorn obeyed, too stunned to move.

It returned a few seconds later, lugging a basket behind. It held the basket out to him and he studied the contents.

The basket seemed to be filled with small, white, black-speckled orbs. Though completely round, they looked like eggs. His stomach growled loudly and he remembered how good eggs tasted.

The child offered the basket, further, inching close enough that he could easily reach in and grab an egg.

They were dirty, raw, and foreign, but he was only undecided for a short time. Swallowing his reservations, he reached into the child's basket and took an egg.

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The next time Jimmy awoke, a pale sunlight filtered through the trees. He shivered and winced at the pain in his bound hands, but he was filled with a strange joy. He had survived a night on Skull Island.

Now rested slightly, he tried to pull free from his bonds. Maybe he had been too weak the night before. Maybe now he could escape.

But his efforts did no more than stretch his arms. Panic began to override his happiness. What if the natives left him here? He would have no way of escaping, and he would starve to death. The natives would get their human sacrifice, whether to the creatures of the island or to hunger.

He waited, helpless for what felt like hours. The movement of the shadows told him otherwise, but with nothing to do but dangle and let his worry build, each moment stretched to infinity.

Finally he saw a train of natives begin making their ways through the dense trees. He noticed with a stab of panic that one held a knife. He decided, in that moment, that it would be better to die from starvation than from a stab wound.

They reached him quickly. Time had, in the moments since he'd seen the natives, sped up so that each minute was a second.

It was like waking up early, before he had to start his day, knowing that in a few minutes he would have to leave the comfort of his blankets. Those minutes felt like seconds, and he anticipated the rough voice of a crew member during each one.

Now it was not a voice, he anticipated, but her ripping pain of the knife. He struggled, in a last attempt to free himself, but to no avail.

The native came close to him. He could see each wrinkle in the strange face, the skewed angles at which the teeth seemed to hang on, and each knot o the matted hair.

Jimmy said a silent quick prayer, hoping that after all this time God hadn't forgotten about him.

The native raised the knife and brought it down quickly on the rope that tied Jimmy's left hand to the bridge.

Jimmy gasped, partly from pain as his weight swung onto his right arm, but mostly from surprise that he was still alive.

The native cut his right hand down as well, and Jimmy crumpled to the ground in a disorganized heap. He groaned as circulation found its way back into has hands, but didn't move until the natives pulled him up.

He fell immediately and this time two native grabbed his arms and hauled him upright. They half-dragged, half-marched him through the woods toward their main area.

He didn't protest as they tied his arms behind his back, and he was silent as they looped this rope around a long, thin crag of rock that jutted from the ground. Even struggling seemed too much work for his battered body.

A woman emerged from somewhere behind him carrying a clay bowl. She grinned, and her toothless mouth made Jimmy shudder.

She walked up to him, and he became aware that the bowl held some kind of soup or stew. Normally, he probably would have thought that it looked vile, but after two stressful days of fighting a storm and a night spent tied to a bridge, it looked and smelled absolutely wonderful.

The woman held the bowl to his mouth and he drank greedily.

He had no idea why he was being kept alive, but he took advantage of the slight hospitality. Maybe, on a full stomach, he could escape.

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Jack awoke early, despite his late night, and rolled out of bed as quietly as he could. Anne murmured something unintelligible beside him.

He sunk his feet into slippers and walked into the kitchen. The clock read six thirty. It was probably too early to call Carl, but perhaps the filmmaker would understand the urgency.

Jack began to dial Carl's number once before hanging up quickly. No one would help him if he called at six thirty in the morning.

He made a sup of coffee and settled down on at the kitchen table. The second hand crawled slowly around the clock, once, twice, thrice, and again and again.

Anne walked into the kitchen at about seven. She surveyed Jack, who still nursed his coffee, and smiled.

"Good morning. Waiting for something?" she asked.

He sighed and returned her smile. "Just the later morning," he said. "I've decided that I'm going to call Carl and see if he can help."

Anne was speechless for a moment. "Carl?" she managed. "What do you expect _him_ to do?"

Jack's late-night reasoning now seemed slightly flawed, but he plowed through it anyway. "Carl had managed to do some crazy things," he said. "It seems that if anyone can get me to Skull Island quickly, it'll be Carl."

"You remember what happened last time he took you there, right?" Anne asked softly.

Jack nodded, his face grim. "Yes. And think of what might be happening to everyone on the Venture."

Anne nodded. "Go on," she said. "Call him. It's never too early for a friend in need."

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Reviews are always appreciated.


	6. Chapter 6

_Return to Skull Island_

CHAPTER SIX

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A/N: Sorry about the long wait! I've been busy with school and life (who needs 10th grade, anyway?) I'm not sure if anyone is reading or writing King Kong fanfiction anymore, but here's the next chapter anyway. :)

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With nothing to do while tied to a crag of rock, Jimmy watched the natives. They seemed to come and go quite frequently, sometimes alone, sometimes in groups, often carrying animal carcasses or bundles of plants. The alien noise of their language was constantly in his ears, and every once in a while he imagined that he heard a particular same word or phrase.

He was ignored for the most part, a fact that he was doubly grateful for and slightly annoyed by. While he didn't want too much attention from the creepy people, he felt that if he had to be tied in their camp, there should be a reason.

Maybe, he realized with a twisted humor, he was their new art.

After some more time passed, he began to recognize individual natives. There was the old lady who had fed him. She passed by frequently and didn't seem to leave the main area often. There seemed to be few young men, and while most of them blended into one similar person, a couple of them had identifying marks like scar, tattoos, or excessive piercings. The old men were harder to tell apart, as were the women, because they seemed to disappear most into the surrounding forest, usually returning with a bundle of greens or tubers. Children occasionally broke out into games of running and wrestling, but they were more similar than any other group, and Jimmy gave up on telling them apart.

He had no idea how long he waited. His internal clock had seemed skewed since the storm, and he didn't try to guess at the time. At some point a small child ran into the main area from the forest. Jimmy watched this, as for he hadn't seen any other children leave or enter.

To Jimmy's surprised, the child came to him. Something was crumpled in its tiny fist, and it grinned widely as it opened the wide leaf and shoved it in front of Jimmy's face.

Taken aback, Jimmy jerked his head away and hit it sharply on the rock crag. Cursing, he focused his attention on the leaf. He was almost as jarred by what he saw than the crack on the head.

Though the child held it upside down, English words had been scratched in pencil onto the leaf. Jimmy recognized the messy writing as Captain Englehorn's.

_Crew be ready for help --E_, the leaf read cryptically.

Jimmy's face broke into a smile. So Captain Englehorn and the others were planning an escape!

The child snatched the leaf away and looked at him quizzically, as if waiting for a payment. Jimmy shook his head. The child's face scrunched into a pout, and Jimmy fumbled to reach his back pocket. Straining against the rope, he managed to pull a coin from his pocket and offered it as best he could to the child.

The child took it, stuffed it into his loincloth, and darted away toward the forest again.

Jimmy sighed, wondering what exactly had just happened.

It took him some time to realize that he was the only one of his crew left in the natives' main area. When it did hit him, he felt sick, and hoped that Englehorn would hurry up the rescue.

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Carl awoke to the ringing of a phone. He grunted, cleared his throat, and rolled out of bed. Grumbling at the chill of his floor he walked grubbily to the phone.

"Hello?" he said listlessly. Then, as an afterthought, he added, "you know it's seven in the morning."

"Hello to you to, Carl," Jack Driscoll's clipped voice said.

"Jack?" Carl asked incredulously. "What do you want?" He walked to a deeply cushioned chair and sat down heavily.

"Carl," Jask sounded concerned, "Did you hear the news? _The Venture_ was wrecked on a mysterious un-chartered island. Does that wring any bells?"

Carl's eyebrows rose. "You're not saying you think the same _Venture_ ended up on the same mysterious un-chartered island, are you?"

On the other end of the phone, Jack sounded hurried and annoyed. "Listen, I didn't believe it either when I saw it. But they mentioned Englehorn in the article—he's gone missing, as have some of the other crew members. I think there's something else going on there. They might need help, or there might be something we should know about. Carl, I'm calling you because you're one of those people who can do the impossible, and I need you to get us the Skull Island within a few days."

Carl was shocked silent. He tried to process the information—the wreck, Englehorn, possibly something else on the island, and finally, a way to get there in a few days.

"Carl?" Jack asked. "You haven't hung up on me, have you"

"No, no," Carl said hurriedly. "I'm thinking. I don't know."

"You don't know?"

"No, Jack, I don't know. You just said a lot. I think I need to read this article. Wait—you said Englehorn's missing?" Carl's mind was fuzzy from sleep and the sudden barrage of information he had just received. It reminded him of school.

_Think_, he commanded himself.

The only possible transportation that could get them to Skull Island in a matter of days was an airplane. But where on earth could they find an airplane?

"Yes," Jack answered.

If he could find someone other than the military that owned a plane, perhaps Jack could rent it for a short time. The man was rich from the success of his last play.

"An airplane," he said.

"An airplane?" Jack repeated.

"Yes," Carl said, and outlined his plan.

"I suppose that could work," Jack said slowly. "But we need someone who owns a plane, and I think we'd need to rent a pilot as well. How much would it cost to rent a plane anyway?"

Carl tried to imagine a number, but renting a plane was so far from ordinary that it was impossible. "I don't know. But I'll look into it."

After he had hung up the phone, Carl shook his head. Was this utterly crazy?

He had to admit, though, that he was drawn to the idea of returning to Skull Island.

No, he decided, there are too many risks. He was down on his luck after the King Kong fiasco, being practically infamous among the bigwigs in New York. He had tried to film another movie, a boring one that he had no real interest in, but it had crashed after two weeks of filming and left him out another couple thousand dollars. He wasn't even sure what to work on now.

He shook his head, sighing dramatically, though no one was in the room. He would look into finding a plane for Jack, but there would be no reason for him to go. Just more money lost. Jack could rescue everyone without Carl's help.

Unless, of course, there was actually something else on the island and _The Venture_ had returned on purpose.

He picked up the phone again, mentally running through a list of people that might know other people that owned planes.

It occurred to him that he should be glad not to go back to Skull Island. His last experience there had been utterly awful. He'd lost friends.

So why did he want to join Jack in returning?

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Englehorn walked through the jungle, trying to picture and remember his exact instructions to the child. Because they shared no language, he had attempted to draw his request in a patch dirt and hope for the best.

He wondered what the child was doing at the moment. Was it telling the elders to look for him? Had it gotten distracted and dropped the leaf? Or had it simply misunderstood the directions of decided not to follow them?

Englehorn rarely allowed himself to worry; after the fact of the matter, it never helped. If his crew had not received the note, then so be it.

Now he headed back to the ship. He knew that rescue would be too difficult alone, injured and exhausted as he was. His shoulder throbbed dully, but through his veil of tiredness it was like background noise. The last night's rescue attempt had been ridiculous, though it had seemed like a good idea at the time.

The adrenaline from the flight from the natives was fading, and he stumbled slightly as he made his way through the thick trees and brush. He thought back to the last time he'd slept. The storm had begun three nights ago, and other than a brief period of unconsciousness, he had been awake the whole time.

It took about an hour to find the edge of the woods, and even longer to travel along the shore to the ship.

The first thing he saw was the mast, sticking up from behind a crag of rock like a lonely bare tree. He breathed a sigh of relief and allowed himself to smile.

He sped up, nearly jogging up the side of the rock that hid the ship from view. He stopped short at the top, staggering as if receiving a blow. His mouth opened wordlessly as he surveyed the damage: _The Venture_ had sunk to the bottom. The mast truly was like a tree, growing from the gently sloshing water.

As he got closer, an eerie silence began to register. The only noise he heard was the sloshing of the water against the shore and the rustling of leaves as a breeze blew through the forest. Nothing moved, either, and Englehorn scanned the area around his ship, willing himself not to panic. Where had his crew gone?

He ran the rest of the distance, fear giving him another shot of energy. His breath was coming in ragged gasps by the time he reached the water's edge. What he saw made him sick.

Bobbing in the swells, some face up and some down, was the remainder of his crew. He stood, staring at the death, completely without a plan for the first time since the wreck.

"Captain!" someone called.

Distraught and startled, he spun around. It was one of his crew, ragged and soggy. The man looked, it if was possible, more distressed than Englehorn felt.

"Captain!" the crewmember said again. As the man neared Englehorn, he recognized him as Miller, the crewmember he had given the wheel to right before they crashed into the wall.

"Yes," Englehorn said vaguely, unable to wrap his mind around the gruesome situation. Maybe he didn't want to. He forced himself to focus and ignore the nausea that had suddenly filled his stomach. "What happened here?" he asked.

"I don't really know," Miller said. "Those… _people_… that live here came in the middle of the night, and they sunk the ship and attacked us and somehow…well… I don't really know what happened. Only a few of us escaped, and they're injured now. Oh yes, and they butchered anyone that was injured already from the crash. I think the only ones alive are on the island somewhere, from when they went to look for wood and stuff, but I can't imagine they've lasted long."

Englehorn said nothing for a moment. He stared intently at the ground, processing the new, horrifying information. "They were captured," he said finally. "I don't know if they're alive."

Miller's eyes widened, adding to his insane image, but he didn't reply.

"Where are the others?" Englehorn asked.

"In the woods," Miller said. "I can bring you to them."

"Yes, do that," Englehorn said.

As he walked, he tried to push the horror into a far corner of his mind. He needed a new plan.

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Yes, I know it's kind of morbid. But all's fair and love and plot, or some other tampered-with cliché like that.

Please leave a review!


	7. Chapter 7

_Return to Skull Island_

CHAPTER SEVEN

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A/N: Okay, so I read over the last chapter…and there are A LOT of typos. I also wrote that Carl walked "grubbily" to the phone, and I can't figure out what I was trying to say. Groggily, maybe? Oh well... I'll try to make this chapter a little better typo-wise.

Sorry this is taking so long! I've been busy, and I have a bad habit of forgetting about my fanfiction.

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Anne sighed as her husband paced. Back and forth across the room, as if the floor would disappear if he didn't step on it.

"Jack," Anne said softly, a gentle reminder to calm down.

When he paused and looked at Anne she could see the anxiety in his dark eyes. "I'm sorry," he said automatically. "I just want Carl to tell me if he's found anything yet."

Anne smiled. "I'm sure he'll call soon," she said. "It's probably hard to find an airplane for rent."

Jack returned to his pacing with a new burst of energy. "I know!" he exclaimed. "What happens if he calls to say that he couldn't do it? What then?"

"You've been worrying about this all morning," said Anne calmly. She was anxious as well, but showing it would only add to Jack's hyperactive worry. "And we've had this conversation before, I think. If he can't get the airplane, we'll think of something else."

Jack sighed, halting once more. "I'm sorry--" he began.

The phone rang, interrupting Jack's apology. He dove to answer it, nearly tripping over the rug. "Hello?" he said. "Yes. I think so. Oh, thank God! Carl, I love you!" (Anne smiled slightly.) "Okay. So when will this be ready? Okay, thanks. I'll see you then."

He hung up.

"What happened?" Anne asked.

Jack's face cracked into a smile. "He did it. Carl did it." His voice gushed with relief. "Somehow, Carl Denham got us an airplane. We're leaving in an hour."

Anne stood up in surprise. "You're leaving in an _hour_?"

Jack nodded enthusiastically. "Yes. We really don't want to waste any time."

"And who is 'we?'" Anne asked, settling back into her chair.

"Well," Jack said hesitantly, as though he hadn't really considered this, "Carl and me, I think. I don't think he's bringing anyone else but the pilot." A thought passed over his face. "Did you want to come?"

"Are you inviting me?" Anne countered as she thought. Did she actually want to go? Her first reaction was a solid _no_. But if Jack thought it would be important for her to come, surely she could manage.

"No! I'm not inviting you!" Jack said, startled. His voice softened. "I mean, unless you want to, of course. But it's going to be dangerous and I don't want anything to happen to you."

Anne took a deep breath. Jack was so sweet, so caring, so brave. "I love you," she said.

"I love you too," Jack replied. "Are you coming?"

Anne shook her head.

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Englehorn found the remnants of his crew to be a sad sight. They seemed huddled, sitting in a group under a tall, thick tree. Some were injured, and others seemed disoriented. Miller sat as soon as they reached the group, seeming to meld into the cluster of drenched, disheartened men. Englehorn stood alone, his teeth gritted as he surveyed the remainder of his crew.

There was something strange about all of them. He knew that they were good, brave men, and not easily daunted. That's why he'd hired them. But here they were, like timid mindless animals. None spoke. What had happened when the natives attacked? Had his crew been drugged or hypnotized?

His body swayed alarmingly as he thought, though he managed to right himself before falling into the sad mass that was his crew. He grimaced. He couldn't go on much longer like this. He needed rest and real food. Perhaps that was even more urgent than running off on another rescue mission.

Well, there was probably food on the ship, but the idea of returning to the site of the deaths made his stomach turn.

He shook himself like a dog drying itself in a vain attempt to force some life into his limbs.

"What are you doing?" a crewmember asked frantically.

Englehorn couldn't tell who had spoken. Perhaps it had been more than one man. Silently, the men seemed to move jerkily as they sat but for no real purpose. He shivered involuntarily. They acted like zombies from bad films. But what could have brought this on?

Lumpy's voice echoed unexpectedly in his mind. "It's magic, I'm tellin' you. They're bewitched, you know. Cursed. I've seen it many a time."

Englehorn tiredly rubbed his forehead. As much as he had valued the dead cook's stories, they had never related to real life. There was no way that remembering them could help.

Dizzy, he swayed again. His knees threatened to give out, so he walked unsteadily to a tree and leaned against it. He didn't want to sit, for it seemed that the group of drugged, hypnotized, or--if his inner Lumpy had any say--cursed crew members would envelop him.

A crunching noise far behind him made him spin tiredly. He looked through the trees for the culprit, but saw nothing. He heard the noise again and searched harder.

He imagined for that he saw the thick dark fur of an ape behind a broad tree trunk, but at a second glance it was gone. He turned back to his crew. Perfect. Now he was hallucinating, imagining that Kong was behind him.

Maybe rest _was_ a good idea. He hesitated by his drugged/hypnotized/cursed crew for a moment before walking a little bit into the forest.

He had a nagging feeling that he should be rescuing and not sleeping, but it was overpowered easily by the logic that without rest, rescue wasn't possible.

Before he had gotten far, his legs gave out again. This time he lay where he had fallen, and it didn't take long for his exhaustion to envelop him.

He dreamed of large, black apes.

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Jimmy fought his bonds harder than ever before. He felt alone and stupid because he hadn't realized that the rest of the crew was gone.

His movement attracted the attention of a few natives and they crowded around him, holding him fast with rough hands. They jabbered to each other in their gibberish language, and before long an old man carrying a long, rough rope emerged from somewhere behind Jimmy.

The rope was handed to the nearest of the natives and they began to wind it slowly around Jimmy's body until he could no longer move at all. Even his head and neck were bound to the crag—the fibers of the rope bit uncomfortably into his forehead. Then the crowd dissipated, leaving Jimmy alone once more.

He waited for hours. The natives ignored him completely, and he resumed futilely watching them and worrying about the rest of the crew. When he was too exhausted and hungry to worry properly, he had nothing to do but observe the natives.

Their language was repetitive and strange, but listening to it Jimmy had an absurd idea. He looked for the small child that had acted as an ambassador earlier. It had disappeared.

Another child of about five years of age ran by, and Jimmy called out to him. The child paused and viewed Jimmy with interest for a moment before running over.

"Jimmy," Jimmy said, gesturing with one unbound thumb at himself.

The child cocked his head to one side.

"Jimmy," Jimmy said again.

The child gestured with the same jerky movement at itself.

"No, no," Jimmy said, though of course the child couldn't understand. He pointed with more vehemence at himself. "Jimmy," he repeated.

"Jih. Me," the boy said, pointing at his own grubby chest.

This dialogue attracted the attention of a few other natives, and an old woman stood, watching, a few feet away. Jimmy looked at her face, hoping that she would intercept his gaze and come closer.

Her eyes caught his and she stared. The intensity of the glance made Jimmy's skin crawl, but he forced himself not to look away.

The woman walked away.

Jimmy swore. The child, whom Jimmy had nearly forgotten, repeated him and smiled gleefully.

Deciding to give his attempt at communication with the child one last try, Jimmy pointed deliberately at himself and said, slowly, "Jimmy." For the first time, the implications of Jimmy's movement seemed to dawn on the child's face. His eyes widened and he raised a thin arm to point at Jimmy.

"Jih. Me," the child said. He turned his arm to himself. "Nakowenf."

Jimmy repeated the name—or what he assumed was the name—as best he could. The child seemed to bounce with happiness. Jimmy's face relaxed into a smile, though he wasn't sure how to continue.

His language lesson was cut short when the child scampered away.

"Wait!" Jimmy called. "Nako—Nakowenf!"

He sighed miserably. Why did these people run away every time he tried to contact them?

There was no way that he would be able to escape by force, and he didn't know how much Englehorn would be able to help him. If only he could talk to the natives he might be able to bargain his way out of captivity. It was the only plan he had left.

He had started with the child—Nakowenf—mostly because he was afraid to contact the adults, and the children had already proven themselves friendly.

Unfortunately, it looked as though communication would be slow.

The sun was high in the sky, just beginning to dip down on its journey into night. Jimmy tried to gauge the time. Probably two or three in the afternoon.

An unfounded dread that something bad would happen at nightfall sat in the pit of his stomach. He wanted to make some progress before the darkness came. He wasn't afraid of the dark—of course not—but he would much rather deal with the natives in the light of day.

He groaned with frustration. Nakowenf had thoroughly disappeared, and he didn't want to go through the same process with any more children than necessary.

Jimmy squirmed, trying to make himself as comfortable as possible, though in his current position comfort was a distant memory. He had a feeling that he would be waiting for a long time.

He didn't move significantly again until, as he had predicted, the night came. The natives dragged him back to the bridge and bound him there again. Jimmy barely had the strength to fight.

He resigned himself to another uncomfortable night. Sleep did not come easily.

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They were to arrive at Skull Island in the wee hours of the morning. It was a long flight, especially with the dubious coordinates that Jack had copied from the map during the first voyage. He hadn't expected to need them, thinking that he wouldn't lose the map or return, but he was glad that he'd made them.

He was a vial of nervous energy, which drove both Carl and the captain of the small plane insane.

The reunion with Carl had been awkward, as they had spoken little in the months since the King Kong fiasco, but they were united enough by the problem at hand.

Jack was amazed that Carl had been able to find a plane at all; the moviemaker said that it belonged to a friend's rich friend. The sum that the rich friend asked for had nearly daunted Jack.

He stared out a window now, his energy ebbing slightly as the light began to fade. The ocean stretched out below him like an endless blanket.

_Am I crazy?_ he wondered. _Well, I'm going back to Skull Island. I must be_.

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Review, please.


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